Mama
by CalliopesCreature
Summary: It's so small... the first meeting between Frigga and her second son.


It's so small.

Frigga's holding the sleeping infant in her arms and marvels at the black hair and the soft white skin. Silently she raises a brow.

 _This_ is supposed to be the spawn of those terrible frost giants, who have marked the last years with storm waves of pain and suffering, spilling blood all over their beloved homeland and people?

(But it's so _young_!)

The baby yawns in its sleep. Instinctively, it turns its tiny head in her direction, seeking out the heat that radiates from her body. A nose nudges against her bosom. Frigga can't help it but chuckle. Emotion shines in her eyes.  
She does not understand.  
What she weighs here in her arms is the purest form of innocence. No monster, no demon. And yet, Odin has rescued it from a world that is known for bestiality. A country covered with deadly sparkling snow and eternal ice. What a strange thought…

Her husband stands a few feet away, staring out the window pensively.  
His thoughtful frown is strewn over his tired face and his hands are clasped behind his grief-stricken back. Wrinkles are springing up at the corners of his eyes and his mouth is a thin-lipped line.

"I've found it in a temple." he repeats for the fifth time in a row since his return to Asgard. "and it does not even seem to notice they had taken him there to die. I guess it happened because of its size. The Jotuns probably found it'd be too weak to survive. That's why they left it to its fate. I cherish the assumption that it could be Laufey's son."

Frigga listens to the words of her husband with only half an ear. The rest of her attention is directed to the being that kicks obliviously with one leg and makes hilarious sounds, reminding her of hidden laughter.

Are babies able to dream? She hadn't thought about it before. No need to answer this question.

Not even when Thor came into the world, and she taught him his first words. It's been three years since he was a newborn. Now he can walk and talk and be quiet when asks him to.  
He does not know much.  
From the terror of those worlds that lurk outside the palace walls. For the love of his parents envelopes him like a protective armour made of silk and sun. He has not learned yet to fear and actually Frigga would prefer it if he'd never have to. But some things can not be stopped. They need to happen. Frigga knows this but it does not mean that it will hurt less when it comes to this point...

"Why did you take it with you?" she asks quietly, even though she almost suspects the answer. Odin is an open book to her.

Her king snorts.

"Why not?" he replies gruffly, finally turns and approaches her.  
He holds out his hand, stroking the child's cheek in a hesitant manner. It's a strange act, caressing the son of his enemy with his fingers as if it was his own offspring.  
The feeling that cords up his chest, can not be shaken off. It is a trembling of his soul, as if the heart freezes. He will have this feeling for many, many years.  
But he will learn to ignore it in time. For the most part, at least.

"The land was strangled in war. Corpses of our and their side lined my way. When I heard the crying, I thought the throbbing pain in my missing eye tortured myself with illusions. But I searched anyway. And when I saw it, the infant cried like a pig on a spit and did not stop until I picked it up. It was a glimmer of light in all the darkness I threatened to drown. The only rock standing out in a sea of blood. What monster would I be to leave it to its death?"

Frigga nods at him, but she knows her husband too good to know that he conceals her something.  
At this moment, however, she does not mind much. The child at her breast has opened its eyes, watching her with undisguised curiosity. Green Eyes. For a few seconds they are the focal point of her world. (And they will be for many, many years).

"I could probably give him into Heimdall's care if you don't want to raise a Jotun's bastard." offers Odin carefully, although this reveals more of his own anxious concerns than those of his wife. After all, Heimdall was born by the nine giant daughters - he should know for sure how to handle such a creature.

"No. **We** are now his family. He belongs to us." interrupts Frigga quickly and suddenly there lies sharpness in her benevolent voice, creating a tune that does not tolerate any opposition.

Secretly, Odin woud not have expected otherwise. Whether he is happy or not, stays hidden underneath his stoic, wrinkled mask.

"It needs a name then." he mumbles lightly. "Do you have an idea?"

"Loki."

Frigga speaks the name without really thinking about it. It is an inspiration. An inspiration only mothers have.

" _He'll_ be Loki. Loki Odinson."

With a mild expression on her beautiful face, she pats her king's cheek, strokes the beard stubble, clotted in dried, blue blood.

"Get Thor, darling." she says. "We must tell him his little brother has arrived."

Odin seems to be relieved that she gives him an instruction, for he immediately goes out of the door without turning once.  
Frigga is left alone in the room.  
Well, not completely alone.  
The newly baptized Loki gives her chuckling company.

But from one to the other minute, the astonished, babbling mouth twists into a whimpering grimace. Loki writhes in her hands and lets out a sob. A screaming. An agony.

(It seems someone starts to miss his Asgardian father here already.)

Frigga takes it with the same patience Thor's incessant crying taught her earlier.  
"Shht, Loki. Don't cry." she whispers tenderly and weighs the child in a slow but steady rhythm. A smile, fed by love, appears on her face.

"Don't cry, ¨ she repeats softly, "I'm here."  
She presses a soft kiss on his pastel-colored forehead.

"Mama is here."

And Loki believes her. He's not aware of much now, but he hears this calming voice and believes this sentence, this devotional love with heart and soul, for several centuries. He will soon take it for granted, but also often fear to lose what has been given to him so unselfishly (which is a fruitless fear, but he will internalize it anyway).

And one day it will break his heart when he finds out that everything has been a lie. His life, his blood, his ancestry. And he will think to never have deserved this love in the first place. It will destroy a part in him that can't be rebuilt.

But that's not important here. These things don't belong to this moment. They wait in the distance and darken the sky.

Loki is a baby and in a few months, the first word he will speak is "Mama.", followed by "Dor." what actually's supposed to mean "Thor." but everyone knows it is the thought that counts.

And he will be happy. Happy for a specific time in which everything seems so terribly fine and harmonious. The truth will tear him apart later.

And why not? Why not give him a little mercy?

He's _ **so**_ _small_ ...


End file.
